


Achievement Unlocked

by stillscape



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (more or less anyway), Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: Raptorlily prompted:Breakfast Club for Two - only it isn't breakfast and it isn't detention. Canon AU, pre-relationship Jughead and Betty get locked in the school overnight working on the B & G. Betty's parents are out of town and Betty bemoans the missed opportunity to go to a big party (she's attracted to Jug but doesn't think he's interested) while Jug battles with his growing interest in Betty, thinking she's not interested. The oblivious duo spend the night fighting/denying their attraction to each other.And I have no self-control.This is set somewhere around episode 1.05 - the Twilight is no more, but no one has invoked Shakespeare yet.





	Achievement Unlocked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raptorlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptorlily/gifts).



> “You going to Veronica’s party tonight?” Betty asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer. As she’d expected, a gray beanie, a lock of unruly dark hair, and two raised eyebrows appeared from behind the monitor that was across the table from her. 

“Let’s see. An apartment packed with people I already spend eight hours a day actively shunning? Loud Top 40 music? Alcohol? Totally my scene, Betts.” 

“I have it on good authority that the catering is going to be amazing.” 

The whole party was going to be amazing. She’d known Veronica Lodge for less than a month, but that was more than enough time to have made it perfectly evident that a Veronica Lodge party was very likely to be the social event of the century. And that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that Betty’s parents were at a conference this weekend, meaning she could go without any of the attendant guilt that always came with sneaking around. She could just enjoy herself. 

Jughead slumped in his chair, the top of his head disappearing behind the monitor again. “Should I be insulted that you think my sole interests in life are misanthropy and food?” 

“I don’t think that,” Betty said mildly. “I think you’re interested in murder investigations, too.” 

“Even better. Food, misanthropy, and murder.” Betty heard the burst of clacking computer keys that usually indicated some sort of inspiration, and then, “I was counting on you to give the one ‘I never saw it coming’ in the Netflix documentary on my troubled young life, you know.” 

Betty logged out of the computer, stood up, and stretched as deliberately as she could. Jughead’s eyes remained glued on his own monitor, sending a little wave of disappointment—if not surprise—through her. 

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said. 

Jughead looked up again. “I don’t think I’m invited.” 

“Of course you’re invited,” Betty said, exasperation automatically creeping into her voice. “You were sitting right there at the lunch table when Veronica told everyone about the party. If she didn’t want you at her party, she wouldn’t have mentioned it with you in earshot.” 

He continued to look a little skeptical. 

“Besides, even if you weren’t specifically invited—which, again, you were—I’m going.” 

“So?” 

“So if it was necessary…” Betty took the shallowest of deep breaths. “Which, again, it isn’t. But if it was necessary, you could just come with me.” _As my date_ , her brain added. 

Another machine-gun round of typing started up. “You just said it wasn’t necessary,” came Jughead’s voice, barely audible over his typing. 

Food, misanthropy, and murder. She could easily add more to a list of Jughead’s interests, of course: movies, literature, Jellybean, the history of Riverdale. Not her, though. Betty Cooper was not on the list. Not as more than a friend, anyway. It was becoming a pattern. Even Trev Brown (and not that her date with Trev had really counted on her end either) had looked at her as though she was something to be appreciated aesthetically, but from a distance. Betty Cooper: nice enough to look at, but not the kind of girl anyone wanted to _touch_. 

She began collecting the things she’d strewn over the table over the course of the afternoon, and shoving them back in her backpack. 

“‘Jughead Jones? No, I never saw it coming at all,’” Betty said, her voice slightly mocking. “‘The only troubling behavior I ever noticed was his regular abuse of the semi-colon.’ How’s that?” 

A slew of indecipherable expressions flitted ever-so-briefly across Jughead’s face, but all he said was “Have a good time.” 

“See you Monday, Juggie,” she said. As she walked toward her locker—she’d stashed a change of clothes and her makeup bag there in the morning, intending to change at Veronica’s—she wondered just how long Jughead planned to keep working on the newspaper tonight. For someone she’d had to practically drag onboard kicking and screaming, he had become awfully devoted to the _Blue and Gold_. It was cute, in fact, how devoted to the school paper he had become. 

(Actually, a _lot_ of things about Jughead had become cute lately. But she tried not to think about that now. Veronica was kind of his friend now too, and Archie would be there, and if she couldn’t even convince him to accompany her to a party under those circumstances…)

As it turned out, she didn’t see Jughead on Monday. She saw him less than twenty minutes later, when she returned to the _Blue and Gold_ offices, fighting back tears of frustration. She’d returned her dress and makeup to her locker; there was no point in carrying them around with her. 

He stood up when she opened the door. “Betty? What’s wrong?” 

“Well,” she said, “it looks like neither of us are going to Veronica’s party.” 

“Why aren’t you going?” 

She threw herself into a chair, as melodramatically as possible—which wasn’t very melodramatically at all; the chairs were wooden and hard, and hurt if you threw yourself into them. 

“Because,” she said, slinging her backpack onto the table beside her, “we’re locked in.” 

 

 

Night had fallen by the time Betty had taken Jughead to every single exit in the school and he’d seen for himself that they were really, truly, locked inside Riverdale High. Betty had tried calling Veronica, Kevin, Archie, even Ethel; no one had picked up. Now they were back in the _Blue and Gold_ office. 

“We could call a locksmith,” she said, but she had no intention of actually doing so; it just didn’t seem like the sort of emergency that would justify the use of her emergency-only credit card to her parents. Until something else occurred to her. “Oh, no. It’s Friday. What if we’re stuck here until Monday? We’ll starve to death.” 

“People can go a few days without food, it’s fine,” Jughead said, sounding oddly like he knew this from experience. “But we won’t have to. You think half my locker isn’t snacks?” 

“Right,” Betty agreed. Jughead’s locker was definitely at least half snacks. 

“And there’s football practice on Saturday mornings. Coach Clayton will be here by 6:30 at the absolute latest.” 

For some reason, it sounded like he knew this from experience too. She quickly dismissed the thought with the mental justification that Archie must have told him the football team schedule. 

“So what’ll it be for dinner, Betty? Cup O’Noodles? Or do you want to go for the bold breakfast-for-dinner option and make it Pop-Tarts?” 

“I’ll try calling Kevin again,” she said, and then, “What flavor of Pop-Tarts?” 

Kevin didn’t answer. Neither did Veronica, neither did Archie, neither did Ethel. Betty scrolled through the other contacts in her phone and contemplated calling some of the other River Vixens before deciding no, she’d rather spend the night locked in the _Blue and Gold_ offices with Jughead than have to explain this mess to Cheryl Blossom. 

 

 

“What time is the party supposed to start, anyway?” Jughead asked, almost idly. They were sitting on the same side of the table now. The table itself was strewn with wrappers and crumbs—Pop Tarts, chips, even a dehydrated pea from the Cup O’Noodles. This last food item Jughead now flicked with his index finger, sending it skidding across the tabletop at Betty, who trapped it under her palm and flicked it back at him. 

“Nine, I think. So, like…half an hour. Why?” She waited for him to flick the pea back at her, but instead he left it alone. 

He shrugged. “Veronica’s going to start checking her phone at that point, right? People are going to be calling.” 

“Maybe. The Pembrooke has a doorman and the Lodges have a butler; it’s not like she’s going to be answering the door.” At the look on Jughead’s face, she added “What?” 

“A butler?” 

“Smithers,” Betty said, nodding. 

“ _Smithers_?” Jughead repeated, looking incredulous. He shook his head. “Look, the point is, Veronica _is_ going to notice when you don’t show up.” 

“Let’s hope so.” 

A wry little smile twisted up at the corner of Jughead’s mouth. “Can’t wait to be rid of me, huh?” 

Betty felt herself flush a little hot. “I didn’t say that.” She wondered, though, why he didn’t seem more anxious to get out of there himself. 

Twenty minutes later, Veronica finally called back. Betty answered at once, automatically putting her friend on speaker. 

“V, thank god,” she said. “Jughead and I got locked in the _Blue and Gold_ offices.” 

“And you’re still there?” 

“Of course we’re still here.” Where else would Veronica expect them to be?

She could practically hear Veronica’s eyebrows arching through the phone. “Betty,” came the reply, “don’t you know how to pick locks?” 

Betty wondered how, exactly, her ability to pick locks had escaped her. She looked over at Jughead, who seemed almost impressed. 

“You can pick locks?” 

She nodded. “Simple ones, sure. I have the feeling the school doors might be a little more complicated than…” She trailed off before she could say _Grundy’s toolbox_ ; she knew Jughead knew what she had done, but still. “I don’t think I have the right tools for that.” 

Betty was wearing her key necklace, as usual; she gave the charm a little tap. 

For a moment, no one spoke. Jughead had been leaning over in his chair, elbows on his knees, chin propped up on his fists as he watched her. Then, abruptly, he got up and left the room.

“Where are you going?” Betty called after him. 

“Where _is_ he going?” Veronica demanded. 

“I don’t know. I’ll call you back, okay? Make sure you pick up.” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

Betty hung up and pocketed her phone, then stood up and started following Jughead. 

When she had returned to Riverdale at the end of the summer, she had noticed—idly, casually, at the time—that Archie wasn’t the only one of her friends to have nicely completed a growth spurt. She was noticing in a not-so-casual way now, as she raced to catch up with him, exactly how long his legs had gotten. 

“Where are you going?” she called, her voice echoing down the deserted halls. 

Jughead came to a stop. “You’re following me.” 

“Why wouldn’t I? You just kind of ran out on me there.” 

He studied her for a few seconds, eyes traveling up and down her face, brows knitted in a concern she couldn’t place. 

“What?” she demanded. 

“Go back to the office,” he said, flatly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

Betty felt her eyebrows shoot right up off her face. “Um, excuse me?” 

“I’m just… getting something.” 

“Okay,” she said. “And I’m just coming with you.” 

“Betty.” There was a note of warning in his voice that made absolutely no sense. 

“Jughead.” 

Neither of them moved. 

“If you want to get out of the school tonight,” he said, sighing a little, “just—let me go get this thing, okay?” 

“Jughead, where can you possibly be going in this school that I can’t follow you?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve been in the guys’ locker room _with the football team in it_.” 

“I know that.” He still sounded annoyed. “That’s not where I’m going.”

Betty decided to try adding her nicest, most disarming smile. “Okay, so… where are you going?” 

She watched as Jughead fought with an imaginary cartoon raincloud that had apparently formed over his head. Finally, he stalked down the hall again. She followed him, naturally. She followed him to the little closet under the stairwell. 

“Door’s not always locked,” he muttered, twisting the knob. 

And—miracle of miracles—it wasn’t. 

“Why wouldn’t you want me to know that you knew the closet isn’t always locked?” Betty asked, but Jughead didn’t answer. He was already inside the closet, pulling the door almost shut behind him. She was just about to reach for the knob when Jughead emerged again, pulling the door completely shut this time. 

“It’s your lucky night, Betts,” he said, holding up a lanyard with something heavy dangling at the end of it. “Looks like there’s a spare set of keys in here.” She was about to say she wouldn’t have to demonstrate her burglar skills after all when Jughead continued, “You won’t have to put up with my company all night.” 

“That wasn’t why I wanted to leave,” she told him. “I like your company.” 

Jughead’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. 

“Ready to get out of here?” she asked, and he closed his mouth and nodded. 

 

 

“Jughead, you don’t have to wait for me. You can just go home.” 

He was leaning on the locker next to hers, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, rolling his eyes as she pulled her duffle bag out. “There’s a murderer on the loose, Betts, or have you forgotten?” 

She had forgotten that, temporarily, and blushed a little. “I’ll change as fast as I can.” 

They began walking towards the nearest girls’ room. 

“Why do you even need to change?” Jughead asked. 

“Whoa,” she said. “Now who’s eager to get out of whose company?” 

He shook his head. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be. Just—you look nice now.” 

Betty automatically glanced down at herself: blue scoopneck sweater (modest neckline), skinny jeans that weren’t too skinny, sneakers. Ponytail, although she couldn’t see that, of course. “I look I’m twelve,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Which, I mean—yes, I do know I’m almost always dressed like this.” They arrived in front of the bathroom door; she placed a hand on it, but turned to Jughead before she pushed the door in. “Dressing up is half the fun of parties, Jug.” 

“But is it, like…” He paused. “I’m just trying to get a read on the social ritual, not your specific enactment of it. What exactly is the point? Are you dressing up _for_ someone?” 

It was all she could do not to laugh. Was he an anthropologist now? 

“Yeah, I am. I’m dressing up for me.” When this explanation appeared insufficient, she rolled her eyes at him. “Juggie, come on. You know there isn’t anyone I’m trying to impress.” 

_Anyone else_ , she thought quickly. But then, if she was truly trying to impress Jughead, this was almost certainly the exact wrong way to go about doing so, wasn’t it? 

(Was there even a right way?) 

Jughead nodded, and she noticed he’d sucked his lower lip just the _slightest_ bit between his teeth. 

Well, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

She quickly threw on her dress—one she’d bought on Veronica’s advice; it was tighter and shorter than her mother would approve of—and swapped her stud earrings for dangly ones. There wasn’t much she could do with her hair at this point; she’d been counting on Veronica’s styling aids to rid her of her ponytail crease. The ponytail would have to do. She splashed a little water on her face, did her best to reproduce the subtle version of the smoky eye Veronica had insisted on giving her the previous week, and slipped her feet into the ankle boots she was now _very_ grateful she’d chosen over heels, considering she was going to have to walk in them. 

“Okay,” she said, pushing the door open. “Let’s go.” 

For the second time that night, Jughead’s mouth opened slightly but no words came out. 

 

 

They were approaching the front door of the Pembrooke when Betty came to a decision. 

“You’re coming in with me, right?” she said. 

“Betty…” 

“I mean, it doesn’t make any sense for you to have walked me all the way over here and then just leave.”

“It does when you consider I don’t like parties.” 

“You don’t know that,” she argued. “You’ve never _been_ to a party.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never hugged an angry porcupine, but I’m betting you already know you wouldn’t like that.” 

“Jughead,” she said, trying not to laugh again (although she knew that this time, he had been trying to be funny), “that’s a really false equivalency.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

“Jughead.” 

“Go have a good time.” His voice was a little softer than she would have expected. 

“ _Jughead_ ,” Betty said, for the third time, and he looked right at her. “I will, but…” 

( _Courage_ , Betty told herself.) 

She reached for one of his hands with both of hers, and hoped her smile didn’t look forced. “I’ll have a better time if you’re there.” 

For the third time that night, Jughead’s mouth opened slightly. He licked his lips. His eyes flickered across her face, and then to her hands around his, and then back to her eyes. 

He licked his lips again. “Okay,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, for the love of god and all that is holy in the land of _author already has multiple WIPs_ , NO ONE SUGGEST THAT I ALSO WRITE THE PARTY. 
> 
> (and in lieu of me finding the .gifs: ain't no party like a Leslie Knope party, 'cause a Leslie Knope party is 30 parties)


End file.
